


I Find You A-peel-ing

by missmoriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:32:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmoriarty/pseuds/missmoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary is not needed except that everything is explained in the notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Find You A-peel-ing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [London Sherlockians](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=London+Sherlockians), [Lemons](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lemons).



> There was once a tale, a rumour, of a lemon story competition. This idea comes from London Sherlockian brilliant minds after one beautiful visit to St Barts. After hearing we cannot enter the meeting place between Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, our wonderful and brilliantly mad group decided to take refuge in a small Starbucks along the narrow streets of St Barts because we were wonderfully cold (I remember wearing thigh high tights so you can imagine how could I was).
> 
> One member, Jessica H, brought up this fanfic about lemons and Sherlock and after a dramatic reading, the idea of making a competition of our lemon stories came up. Although this was meant for everyone to be involved, Alex T wrote this wonderful crack 'fic about lemons and Sherlock. 
> 
> Enjoy. Do not question our madness.

I Find You A-peel-ing

Twas’ the witching sunset hour and the fluffy pink of the clouds contrasted harmoniously with the deep, pale blue of the sky. These clouds had no silver linings but golden lemony ones, the beauty of which stretched far past London and into the rest of the observable universe. The only place not penetrated by this pure radiance was 221B Baker Street.

‘I fucking hate lemons Jawn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’, screeched the immature high functioning sociopath as he stumbled around blindly, rubbing his eyes like he had just seen Jagba’s undersized neutrino penis and was trying to physically scour away the imprint it had left on his retina. He had been conducting a super-duper important experiment when in all of the sciency excitement he had squeezed the lemon with 94.3% too much vigour, sending lemony excrement into his awaiting eyeballs.

As the consulting detective proceeded to give way too many fucks about this slightly unfortunate mishap he was unaware that his arch-nemesis the lithe and shapely Jim Moriarty lurked out of sight just beneath the window listening to his every expletive. Jim, of course, was clad in his usual barely-clad consulting criminal attire, except, this time he had upped his game and was teetering on 8 inch stillettos rather than his usual 7 inch ones.

Jim’s teetering intensified with every word. Could it be that he had found the detectives ultimate weakness??? He proceeded to shimmy back to his lair seductively, showing off his neon pink, fishnet, stealth leotard as best he could in hopes that Moran was watching from a vantage point nearby, vowing to squeeze the heart out of that bitch Sherlock Homes or at the very least turn him and his stupid faeces-faced friend into juice.

Sherlock’s mood was still sour a few hours after the lemon incident. His ingenious ploy to win the affections of John Watson once and for all was all for nought. He made up his mind to take a different approach to woo the war doctor. Hurrying to the kitchen he rummaged through drawer after drawer until he found the desired instrument and then galloped over the kitchen table to rescue his fair maiden Watson, crashing into him and causing them to both awkwardly topple to the ground. Sherlock straddled John proudly presenting the object in his hands,  
‘John, I find you . . . ’, but the blushing detective was interrupted by the roof of 221B collapsing in on them as a large elliptical object crashed through it, piloted by the notorious, nefarious Jim Moriarty.

Mrs Hudson was immediately roused from her marijuana induced daze,' IT’S THE MOTHERPIP!!!’ she holla’d before re-lighting her spliff and returning to the harmonious land of hallucinations from whence she came. 

‘UNLEASH THE LEMONSTERS!!’ Jim commanded as waves upon waves of lemon whores descended upon the duo from the motherpip above them. Sherlock immediately shed his outer clothing layers to reveal a glittery purple stealth leotard whose fabulousness rivalled even Moriarty’s and slashed at the oncoming lemonsters with the unassuming peeler with all the might he could muster, his sole aim to try to slice them into as many segments as possible. John stumbled around wildly, blinded by the artistic beauty of the scene of destruction before him,  
‘Help I can’t Vitamin see!!’ panicked the doctor.

‘Here use my lemonocle’ responded a helpful lemonwhore handing him the lens. The true nature of the situation unfolded before John’s very eyes. His beloved consulting detective was fiercely battling the fiend Moriarty with his peeler, desperately trying to topple him from his 8 inch stiletto pedestal.

‘I’ll make you regret that time that you tried to steal the fruits of our love.’ Sherlock cried, his heart filled with citric rage and his hands filled with lemony flesh torn from one of his many opponents buttocks. By this point Sherlock had managed to somehow, most probably due to his quick wit and unquenchable desire to protect John, disable and capture around ten lemonwhores. However, always quick to show John his deductive powers Sherlock shouted above the hullaballoo

‘John we must hastily make our escape!, let us call on Scotland Orchyard for lemon-aid! ’

Sherlock harnessed the ultimate telepathic power of the alignment of captured lemon whores to summon the one and only DI Greg Lestrade who if rumours were to be believed had dealt with this kind of incident before.

Greg immediately seized the chain holding the submissive lemonwhores together, ‘Sherlock.’ Lestrade called needily, ‘We must start with the riding crop. Then we shall be able to make our escape.’ Lestrade lestraddled his lemony steed and proceeded to yell at the top of his lungs, ‘On Blender, On Squeezer, On Juicer and Wheezer.’ The lemonster called Wheezer let out an awkward, highly-sexualised, chesty cough if you know what I mean.

‘Bitch you need Lemsip Max.’ yelled Lestrade waving his arms in the air like drunken semaphore cause he was tired of these drunken lemonwhores, ‘And Lemon Drizzle I’m tired of your shizzle.’ Lestrade reprimanded one of the younger captives who was engaging in a most complex interpretive dance as the pancake sleigh took off in a flurry of lemon and sugar snowflakes carrying Sherlock and John away from the scene of destruction. It was a sweet yet also sour victory.

John reclined back into Sherlock’s chest as they flew far away, caressing the consulting detective’s glittery, purple stealth leotard of sex,‘I’m glad I’m not a lemon,’ the doctor murmured sensually, ‘I’m glad you’re not also,’ purred the high functioning sociopath, ‘but if you were I should put you on my shelf and cherish you forever, or until you went mouldy or something.’  
‘How romantic.’ Sighed the love-struck war doctor as the detective slipped a long, wet instrument into his hands. John stared at it in amazement, it was the peeler still drenched in the juice of their lemonwhore enemies. 

Sherlock looked him deep in the neverending void of his eye and whispered,

‘John Watson, I find you a-peel-ing.’


End file.
